


So-Called Sin

by Fyre



Category: Plunkett and Macleane (1999)
Genre: Bondage, M/M, stable
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2014-04-14
Updated: 2014-04-14
Packaged: 2018-01-19 09:50:57
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 1
Words: 3,172
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/1464940
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Fyre/pseuds/Fyre
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Rochester always insisted that Will Plunkett accompany Jamie Macleane to all social gatherings. Will knew why, and was quite happy to take advantage of it.</p>
            </blockquote>





	So-Called Sin

**Author's Note:**

> I have no idea where this came from. I've just suddenly been attacked by a killer plot bunny. And then, it got kinky. And so I wrote it.

Will wiped his face on his shirt sleeve, leaving it sodden. The stables were warm and dry at least. Better than being left out in the rain and freezing his bollocks off again.

Jamie, the lucky bastard, was inside with wine and food and probably a fucking great fire. 

And the old whores with the clap.

The thought still made Will grin. The stupid bastard had shagged the old bitch so hard she couldn’t walk straight. Course she was going to leave him a nice present. Any man bloody stupid enough to stick it where every other man had been shouldn’t be surprised.

He rucked off his coat, hanging it over one of the stalls. 

The party would last all night. They usually did.

There was a bale of straw, warm and dry, stacked by the wall. Took a flick of his knife to cut the strings and spread it out to lie on. Itched like hell, but was better than sitting on the flagstones or wallowing in horse shite.

Will laced his fingers behind his head and closed his eyes.

If anyone wanted him - anyone being his bloody pig-headed partner - they knew where he could be found.

It wasn’t Jamie who found him or woke him.

A hand, covered in silk, pressed to his mouth.

Will’s hand moved for his knife, but another hand caught his wrist, the grip iron-tight.

“None of that, darling,” his assailant murmured. “We wouldn’t want to scare the horses.”

Will squinted at him. There wasn’t much light in the stable, and he could barely make out the silhouette of the man leaning over him. Over the scent of hay and horse and manure, he caught a whiff of perfume. 

Rochester.

He opened his hand, away from his blade.

“Much better,” Rochester murmured. He sounded like he was smiling. His fingertips drew down Will’s chin. “I wondered where Jamie had hidden you away.”

“Like I could come into your fancy parties,” Will snorted, propping himself up on his elbows. “I’m not what you’d call ‘civilised’, am I?”

Rochester’s hand slid down his neck, resting there, squeezing just a little. “Civilised can be quite boring, you know,” he murmured. He was leaning closer now, and by the faint light, Will could see the gleam of his eyes and the spark of metal at his eyebrow. “I prefer infinite variety.”

Will grinned at him. “I remember, you dirty bugger.”

First time Rochester caught him was the night of the first party, their first big score. 

Jamie had been so drunk on success and lust for some little tart, he didn’t even notice that Plunkett wasn’t walking straight when they got home. Then he’d been distracted by his knob being twice the normal size and itching like a bastard.

He still didn’t know about it, either.

Even when Rochester said ‘Bring your man’, the daft bugger didn’t put two and two together. 

Maybe because Rochester was his benchmark. No one like Will could ever be anything like Rochester in innocent little Jamie’s eyes. Men were men, women were women, and Rochester was Rochester. 

It wasn’t like they were having a great bloody romance, but Rochester was a fucking attractive bastard and Will liked a cock as much as a fanny. Rochester wasn’t subtle either. First time, he’d had Will up against the wall and got him off with one hand before turning him about and giving him it up the arse.

That same hand was already loosening Will’s breeches.

“Bit keen,” Will said, not making a move to help him.

Long, firm fingers squeezed him through his breeches, making him press his lips together to stifle a groan. 

“I hardly think I’m the only one,” Rochester purred.

“Cunt,” Will growled, lifting one hand and pulling Rochester’s mouth down on his.

He had Rochester on his back in the straw in a heartbeat, and Rochester laughed against his mouth, his teeth sharp and biting at Will’s lower lip. He tasted of wine and opium, rich and tart and sweet and sinful.

“On top, darling?” Rochester breathed, as Will tugged at the buttons of his fancy breeches. So many fucking buttons. “How very daring.”

Will shoved his hand down the front of Rochester’s trousers and squeezed his cock. “Wouldn’t mind shutting you up for a bit,” he said.

Rochester went quiet and his hand was on Will’s chest.

Will knelt back in the darkness. Some men were funny about shagging. Some were funny about other choices. Rochester always seemed like he’d be up for a bit of anything. 

“Uncover the lantern.” Rochester’s voice was lower, deeper than it had been a minute before.

Will staggered to his feet, groping around in the dark until he found the shuttered lantern, tilting the cover. The candle flickered inside, and the pale glow made Rochester shine gold on the bed of straw. There was straw in his hair and his cock was sticking out his breeches.

He didn’t look like he was put off.

“You want to shut me up, do you?” His eyes were gleaming, and his lips were parted and wet, his tongue visible between his teeth. He looked like he wanted to eat Will alive, and Will swallowed hard. Rochester didn’t look away from him, smiling like a fucking cat, and pulled off his gloves, one finger at a time. “Over here, if you please.” He gestured imperiously to a spot in front of him. “Now.”

“You’re a fucking wanker,” Will complained, stalking over and standing in front of the arrogant arsehole. His heart was beating like a fucking drum. Last thing he’d ever expected was for Rochester to be willing to kneel for him.

“I know,” Rochester sighed, “but we all have our crosses to bear.” He motioned to Will’s breeches. “Down, now.”

Will snorted, jerking the buttons loose. His hands were fucking shaking with anticipation. He shoved his trousers down to his knees, and put his hands on his hips. “You think you’re that good, do you?”

Rochester rose on his knees, looking up, eyes glittering. “Oh, my dear boy, you have no idea.” He ran his fingertips up Will’s thighs. “And if you move, I’m afraid the game is over.”

“You think I’ll move?”

Rochester ran his tongue along his lower lip, smirking. “I know you will, even if it’s only downwards.”

Will opened his mouth to argue but Rochester’s mouth wrapped around his cock and he forget everything he was going to say. It had been fucking forever since anyone had done that. Not even his wife liked doing it, but Rochester’s mouth was made for it.

His tongue dragged up, over the head, his lips sucked, and his teeth…

“Jesus Christ!”

Rochester chuckled and the sound vibrated right through his fucking cock and Will’s knees nearly buckled under him. Rochester’s hands were tight on his thighs, and squeezing as Rochester’s head moved lower. 

Rochester lipped as his bollocks, sucked on them then nibbled and sucked his way back to the top of Will’s cock and fucking swallowed him down to the root, like he’d done it a hundred fucking times. With fucking Rochester, he probably fucking had and Will grabbed at his hair, giving a strangled yelp.

Rochester pulled back sharply, and the absence made Will curse explosively.

“No touching the hair, my dear,” Rochester cautioned, moving one of his hands to squeeze Will’s cock in warning. “At least one of us must look presentable once we’re done.”

“You fucking cunt!” Will groaned. “What the fuck am I meant to hold onto?”

Rochester’s lips twitched. “You could move.”

“I’m not fucking going anywhere.”

The man smiled like a fallen angel and rose from his knees. “I thought you might say that,” he said. “Don’t move.” He stroked his hand down the length of Will’s cock. “I’ll find you something to… hang onto.”

Will muttered a curse under his breath, grabbing at his cock. 

Rochester returned a moment later and tossed a length of rope over the beam above them. He offered both ends to Will with mocking solicitation. “Consider yourself lucky we don’t have time to tie you up.”

Will wrapped one hand, then the other, in the rope. “One day, I’ll do you that favour.”

Rochester slunk closer to him, and wrapped his hand around Will’s cock again, his lips so close Will could feel the warmth against his own. “One day, darling, I’ll look forward to it very much indeed.”

Will lunged forward, his mouth crushing Rochester’s, and he felt more than heard the man chuckle. Rochester’s other hand was in his hair, his tongue against Will’s, and there was salt mixed with the wine and opium, salt and sex, and Will groaned aloud as Rochester’s hand slowly moved up and down. The bastard had rings on every fucking finger and he could feel every fucking one of them. 

“Patience, my pretty darling,” Rochester whispered against the corner of Will’s lips. “I’m not done with you yet.” His teeth grazed along Will’s jaw, nipped at his throat, even as his hand moved. “I like how you taste.”

“Yeah?” It was all he could think to say.

“Mm.” Rochester’s teeth closed on his windpipe and pressed, squeezing, hard enough to leave fucking bruises and make him light-headed. His tongue traced over the marks. “Like dirt and leather and sex.” His hand tightened. “Quite addictive.”

Will tightened his grip on the ropes, swallowing hard. “You’re still talking,” he growled. “I wanted you to shut up.”

Rochester chuckled again. “Then watch, darling, and see a true miracle: a silent Rochester.”

Will looked. He knew he shouldn’t have indulged the randy bastard, but he watched as Rochester went to his fucking knees and wrapped his mouth around Will’s cock again. His cheeks hollowed and his lips were red and wet and his tongue was hot and slick and his fucking eyes never left Will’s.

“Jesus!” he panted, clinging to the rope for dear fucking life as the Earl sucked and licked at him as if he was the fucking best thing Rochester had ever tasted. Rochester made low, greedy sounds, swallowing then withdrawing, one hand squeezing at Will’s balls as his mouth moved, and Christ, the cunt knew what he was doing. Will turned his face against his arm, biting at his sleeve to keep from yelling aloud.

The mouth moved and was gone, and two hands, cool and slim, were running down his cock, one, then the other, one then the other, squeezing and lighter, and hard, and Jesus fucking Christ. 

“Look at me, William. I want to see your face.”

Will, panting raggedly, forced his head back, staring down at him. Rochester’s eyes shone and he dragged a wine-ruddied tongue in agonizingly fucking long strokes across the head of Will’s prick, and his hands kept moving, one and the other, rings, and jewels and his tongue and then he closed his mouth, the hands were gone and he swallowed.

Will almost bit through his fucking tongue to keep from yowling when he came. 

“Mm.” Rochester drew back slowly, lapping daintily at Will’s cock, catching every drop of cum. “Lovely.”

“You’re a fucking arse,” Will gasped out, his voice hoarse and ragged. 

Rochester smiled wickedly and kissed the tip of Will’s cock again. “My, my,” he said. “That sounds almost like an invitation, if you reword it slightly.”

Will’s head rocked back. His hands were burning against the rope, but he wrapped another loop around each wrist, determined not to fucking fall before they were done. “Yeah?”

Rochester rose from his knees, dragging his hands up Will’s thighs and over his hips, pulling Will’s shirt up with them. “Oh yes,” he murmured, brushing his lips against Will’s. “May I, darling?”

Will claimed a kiss, hard enough to bruise, biting on Rochester’s lower lip. “I’m not gonna hang around all day.”

Rochester laughed. “Such a way with words,” he said, then smacked Will firmly on the backside. “Turn, if you will.”

“Why do I fucking bother?” Will grumbled amiably, twisting around. The rope coiled together above him, the beam creaking as he braced himself.

Rochester pressed against his back, his mouth hot and wet at Will’s throat. “One must take the pleasures where one finds them,” he murmured. His hands were warmer now, resting on Will’s hips. “Now, my dear, are you unprepared?”

“When I’m on your land, you kinky bastard?” Will snorted. “Pocket. Left side.”

Rochester kissed his ear. “One should never underestimate the value of fucking an alchemist,” he said, bending down to root through the pocket of Will’s breeches. Another kiss was pressed to his bare hip. “You’re a most practical man, William.”

“Practical,” Will snorted. “Yeah. That’s what I was thinking about.” He shuddered as the contents of the small vial met his skin. It was always cold, even when Rochester’s warm fingers smoothed it down the crease of his arse. “Jesus…”

“I would hope you aren’t thinking of him, my darling,” Rochester murmured, mischief in his voice. His other hand was holding Will’s shirt up, aside, his palm splayed on Will’s hip. 

“Well, I’m going to hell anyway…” Will started then hissed through his teeth as a finger pressed into him.

“Mm. We’ll have our own private box there, don’t you think?”

“You’ll have a whole fucking theatre,” Will groaned, the ropes pulling against his wrists, the cords cutting into his hands as he twisted another loop, almost lifting himself onto his toes. 

The bottle clattered away across the floor. 

“Flattery,” Rochester murmured, “will get you everywhere.” He pressed his cock - hard and throbbing - against Will’s arse, and his hands, one wet and one dry, caught Will’s hips. His lips were a breath away from Will’s ear. “You may want to hold tight.”

“Already there,” Will panted, his head falling back as Rochester bit at his throat. How fucking Jamie didn’t notice the marks, he had no fucking clue. Rochester liked to mark where he’d been, and Will knew he’d be wearing a fucking necklace of bruises by morning. 

“Good boy,” Rochester murmured, his grip tightening as he pressed his cock against Will’s arse. It wasn’t the same as being with a woman, going in that way. It was fucking tighter, and Will loved the way Rochester always stifled a small, panting moan against his shoulder.

Will shifted his weight, suspended by the rope, pushing back, pushing the bastard deeper. 

Rochester’s breath was hot on his shoulder, and his hands were tight as hell.

“Just gonna stand there?” Will growled, rocking his weight on his toes.

“May just do that,” Rochester panted, but it was belied by the way his hips twitched. 

Will tossed his head back, his hair clinging to his brow. “Fucking Rochester worn out already?” he laughed hoarsely. “Never thought I’d see the fucking day.”

Rochester’s teeth caught his throat again and Will closed his eyes, bracing himself against the ropes as Rochester’s hips started to move. The bastard liked his opium. He liked it because he could keep going for fucking ever, or at least longer than Will ever could, and he was hard as fuck, pushing deeper and harder and Christ, Will forgot how it felt every fucking time. 

He was staggering on the tips of his toes with every thrust and Rochester had his hips, and was pulling him back hard, and for the first fucking time, there were no fucking words, just the sound of their breathing, the panting, the slap of flesh to flesh as Rochester fucked him harder and harder. His cock was stirring and he twisted his head to breathlessly demand Rochester’s mouth, the bastards tongue fucking his mouth as much as his cock was his arse. 

Rochester’s hands were moving too. On his chest, over his belly, scratching, clawing, nails at his nipples, down over his hip bones, jerking him back, a savage, hungry mockery of an embrace and groping for his cock, squeezing it, making it stir and throb and both of them were panting into each other’s mouths and Rochester’s arm was around his chest and his hand went still on Will’s cock as he shivered and his hips jerked and he was spent in four shuddering strokes. 

He slumped against Will’s back, one hand clutching at Will’s ribs, the other still clasping Will’s cock, stroking slowly, unsteadily, his mouth open and wet and panting against Will’s open lips.

Will’s tongue slid along Rochester’s lower lip. “Satisfied?”

Rochester’s mouth closed over his again, and Rochester sucked lightly on his tongue. He could taste his own cum and his cock tightened in Rochester’s hand. “Mm.” Rochester’s eyes opened lazily. “Very much.” He drew back slowly, his cock slipping from Will’s arse. “And much as I’d like to stay and continue…”

“You have a party to get back to,” Will said, wincing as he unwrapped one loop of rope from his arms enough to lower his feet back to the floor. His palms were rubbed raw and his cock was halfway to erect again and he wanted nothing more than to turn the bastard round and bend him over the nearest stall. 

Rochester slinked around in front of him, making a show of fastening his trousers up again. “I must have you to tea some afternoon,” he murmured. “Jamie has taken quite a fancy to some little skirt, and would be easy to divert.” He glanced down straightening his waistcoat. His eyes flicked up, dark and heated. “And I have a quite marvellous billiard table. Plenty of holes to knock balls into.”

“And I’d get to knock the balls?”

Rochester’s fingers teased along his cock again. “After you tied yourself up for me today, darling?” he purred. “I think you deserve it.” He leaned closer and dropped a chaste kiss on Will’s lips. The touch of his hand was nowhere near as innocent. “Think of me, hmm?”

Will grinned. “I’ll consider it,” he said. “Now, fuck off, you nonce. Go and be with your rich knobs.”

“Knobs. Yes.” Rochester sighed wistfully. He bowed suddenly, low, deep, and took Will’s cock in his mouth in one last long wet suck. Will shuddered, thanking fuck he was still holding onto the ropes. Rochester straightened up, looking smug. “I’ll see you very soon, my darling.”

Will waited until the bastard was out of sight before untwisting the rope from his arms and releasing it. His cock was throbbing anyway, but the blood returning to his arms made him wince, and his fingers were raw and clumsy as he took his cock against his palm. 

It didn’t take much to get himself off again. Just looking at the spilled vial, the marks of rope left on his arm - even through his shirt - and the taste of sex in his mouth was enough. He wiped himself off on his shirt, and tried to fix his trousers.

He collapsed back onto the straw, his legs pleasantly unsteady, and lay back, flexing his aching fingers. All things considered, he thought, grinning, there were worse places to come than Rochester’s balls.


End file.
